Passing Years
by xylot3
Summary: N/E. Pre-CotBP. The missing scenes of James and Elizabeth's relationship, from when Will is discovered to Norrington's promotion ceremony.
1. The Saucy Arethusa

Originally posted on LiveJournal.

A/N: This story is based on the piece, 'An English Sea Song Suite'; its chapters are named after each movement. I wrote it about a year ago and never got around to posting it on here. So I will post it a chapter a day (there are only five) on here. But you could probably hunt it down over at LiveJournal if you bothered. If not, here it is anyway!

* * *

_The Saucy Arethusa first appeared in William Shield's 1796 play Lock and Key where the hero, a naval officer, sang it as a serenade under the window of his lady-love; the song achieved immediate and lasting popularity. The Arethusa was a British naval vessel which had given chase to and engaged the French ship La Belle Poule in June 1778._

_-0-  
_

**SEPTEMBER, 1773**

"You have a beautiful home, sir," the Lieutenant said monotonously. I sighed. Honestly, how boring has the world's propriety become? He's the fifth person to have said the exact same thing. It's just a house.

"Why, thankyou, Lieutenant; I find it rather... homely-" my father chuckled at his own wit (or lack thereof, if you ask me) "-and I'm very glad someone agrees."

"I cannot see why they would not, sir." Norrington answered. I stifled a laugh from where I sat in the next room. Everyone loved to play pet with my father. Quite annoying, now that I come to think about it. "It is indeed quite lovely." The way the Lieutenant said lovely with his unusually deep voice made it sound almost sarcastic. Father tittered.

"Oh, where are my manners-" I rolled my eyes. Father always used that excuse to introduce me. I stood up. "-you must greet my daughter Elizabeth. She must be nearby; new places frighten her-" For goodness' sake, would he never learn? I'm not one of those gossiping, overdressed ladies from the port, thank you very much! "-I'll call her over right away. Elizabeth!"

Straightening my skirts and grumbling under my breath, I made my way into the front sitting room where my father and Norrington were. Norrington looked exactly like he did on the Dauntless – expressionless, uniformed with the silly wig and all. I wished all those sailors would at least remove the wig. All it did was make them all look like complete fools.

I curtseyed. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant," I said, in as much of a drone as I could. Maybe they'd see the error of their boring ways.

"And to you, Miss Swann." Oh, for the love of... Why must they always call me that? I do have a name. Only Will calls me Elizabeth.

There was a moment's silence as the Lieutenant glanced from me to my father, who was busying himself with his cup of tea. In that time, I noticed two things. One, there was an enormous cobweb in the corner of the ceiling, and two, Norrington's eyes were green. That was odd. I'd never seen green eyes before.

My father cleared his throat. "Yes, well, Elizabeth, if you'd excuse yourself? The Lieutenant and I have matters to discuss."

I curtseyed again, flashing a brilliantly artificial smile at Norrington, whose eyes glimmered back. "Of course, Father. Lovely-" I imitated Norrington "-to meet you again, Lieutenant."

I scurried out of the house. I walked out through the front door and, making sure nobody was sticking their nose into my whereabouts, ducked into the flowerbed underneath the window of the front room. Sure enough it was open; my father's jolly voice and Norrington's deep one were easy enough to hear.

"So a raid on that ship... the Princess, if I recall?" Father's voice was riddled with concern. Princess. I'd heard of that ship somewhere.

"According to the Turner boy, yes."

Will?

"I see. Did he have any account of the voyage, or was there anything else worth noting that he spoke of?"

Oh. The one that got scuttled by pirates.

"I, well... his mother... she..." There was a faint rustle of fabric. Norrington was probably getting uncomfortable. A small part of me wondered what he looked like when he blushed. I stifled a giggle. "I am... do you wish for me to speak freely? I fear this topic will offend, governor."

"Nonsense; I'm sure I can stomach it."

"Well, not just you, sir." More movement. "Your daughter, who is listening outside through that open window."

Tattletale!

I cursed silently to myself as Father walked toward the window. "Elizabeth? Apologies, Lieutenant Norrington, she is a curious one – Elizabeth." He stuck his head out the window and looked at me, crouching in a most unladylike way in the flowerbed. "Where are your manners? It is most rude of you to eavesdrop like that, especially in front of a guest of such occupation! Stand up, stand up-" I obeyed sulkily, pouting "-and busy yourself with something else."

I crossed my arms defiantly. "But this topic is much more interesting than the butlers babbling on about 'tarts'. I've never seen them make any sort of dessert-"

I was interrupted by laughter. It was the Lieutenant.

He had a very nice laugh - not like those fake ones that all the other upstanding gentlemen had. This one sounded real. As if I had told a very good joke. The laughter only lasted a second or two before Norrington's face went back to its expressionless mask, but even from where I stood, his eyes smirked. I almost smiled at him, but Father made a disapproving noise. Norrington blushed.

I smiled then.

Father glared at me, and said as evenly as he could, "I apologise for my daughter's behaviour. It is the shock of leaving England; this new area has taken her by surprise."

I resisted the urge to stamp my foot. "That's not true, Father! I've never said that, but you tell that to all of those stuffy, high-ranking people that talk to you."

Father's jaw tightened as Norrington laughed again.

**

* * *

DECEMBER, 1773**

"James?" I used his first name, which as usual caught his attention more easily.

"Yes, Miss Swann?"

"Why do people have to be so stuffy all the time?"

He laughed through his nose. "You of all people would know the answer to that, Miss-"

"Elizabeth." I interrupted defiantly.

He nodded, not really paying attention, and resumed walking. Since he had my much smaller hand in his, I was forced to go along. But I didn't give up the questioning. "I know why they have to – it's just proper." I let the annoyance seep into the word.

"Indeed."

"But," I pressed on, "why do we have to be proper? If everyone wasn't then nobody would have to pretend to be wooden."

"Well, I'm sure many share your opinion, Mi- Elizabeth, but I suppose it's a matter of proprietary standards."

Matter of… Could he please use easy English for once?

We fell silent again, continuing our walk. It was another nice day in the Caribbean – which, I noticed, was just an average day in these parts – and the day before Christmas. I hadn't yet asked James if he was attending the dinner Father would be holding tomorrow night, and I dearly hoped he would. If I were to be the only young one there, chances were I'd be forced to play the pianoforte or sing for the guests. At least if James were there, I'd have someone to back me up.

* * *

"Most eminent of you to attend, Lady Kingsley. And you, Lady Miller! Yes, welcome to our home, Captain Moffat. Oh, Arthur Ryan, so glad you could make it on time! Yes, yes, take a seat."

I rolled my eyes. How my father managed to sound so enthusiastic and genuine, I'll never know. Another stuffy tea party. And how many guests were there this time?

"We'll sit you between these two, Captain Pemfield – oh, thankyou, Lieutenant Norrington, yes, you can take your seat there, now." I smiled broadly at that. James had made it - at least this congregation would be a little more exciting than the last.

I walked into the room. Six or seven pairs of eyes looked at me, only two pairs shining brightly at my presence. I curtseyed politely at the gaggle of squawking people and took my seat at the rectangular table. I sat right across from James! I couldn't help grin in relief at him across the table.

Halfway through the meal, James and the Dauntless' quartermaster Mr Ryan seemed to get into an argument. Most of Ryan's remarks about Captain Philip (whoever he was) seemed too bold (to the guests, anyway; I quite enjoyed seeing a more inebriated side of normally stuffy men) were getting onto James' nerves. He'd told me once that he didn't quite like Ryan's attitude, and since the quartermaster had had a lot more brandy than most, it was worse tonight. It had reached the point where the other guests had ceased all other conversation and were instead listening to them argue on.

I felt I should calm James down a little; any higher decibel from either man would make Father end the evening, which I didn't want since James was here. I didn't want him to leave so soon.

"I think it is your drink talking, sailor," James said evenly, "perhaps ease off a little on the brandy-"

"Are you telling me how to drink now, Lieutenant? We're not even on the ship!" The intensity of his statement was not altered by his fake chuckle, although most of our other guests smiled artificially in an awkward attempt to slow the argument.

James put his hands underneath the table. It was a habit of his; whenever he became annoyed he balled his fist and grazed his knuckles against his hand. His jaw tightened considerably and I discreetly reached underneath the table, taking one of his hands.

His eyes smiled at me briefly, and the table fell silent, save for Lady Miller's polite cough.

Father wiped his brow after a few moments. "Perhaps my daughter would like to sing us a Christmas carol."

"Of course, Father."

I shared a look with James, who smiled encouragingly. I pouted subtly in his direction and his smile turned into a smirk. The nerve…

"Only if Lieutenant Norrington joins me."

James reddened.

A-ha.

Father, too, seemed to have had more than his fair share of drink, because he let out an uncharacteristic giggle and nodded. "Why not. Of course. Please do!"

I smiled innocently at James, who stood up with me. That was easy.

My turn to smirk.

**

* * *

FEBRUARY, 1775**

"I'm feel as though I'm fourteen already," I sighed unhappily, fidgeting on the bench where we sat.

James turned his head, his face concerned. "Why is that?"

I glanced back at him, and then looked away. "It's not. I just wanted to break the silence."

He laughed. "I see. And did you want me to begin a conversation about the weather?"

"What about it? It's just sunny again."

"Is that so bad? It is your birthday tomorrow, after all. The world is happy for you."

I refrained from mentioning that the world always seemed this happy.

"Is there something you wished to do, then?" He asked, noting my discomfort at sitting idly in the middle of a garden. "Perhaps a walk somewhere? You've at least two hours before your father comes back home. And I am off duty all day."

"If you're off duty," I grumbled, "why must you don that uniform?" I snatched his hat off of his head, gesturing at the ridiculous wig. "And that thing on your head. Why is it there? Nobody else is here to reprimand you."

"I…"

"And," I continued, "I've only ever seen your hair twice. I think it's brown."

James blushed. "It would be improp-"

"Oh, come on, James. For me. As a birthday gift."

That will get him.

"Very well." He mumbled, still pink. When I'd first met him, I'd always thought he was unable to show any kind of emotion other than sarcastic amusement, anger, or none at all. It only took a request that he remove his hat, coat, or wig, and he'll turn scarlet. Secretly I found his blush endearing, since it was so rare. "I shall do so if you return my hat."

"What kind of deal is this? You don't want to be rid of that thing?" I protested. Really, I just wanted him to blush for as long as he could.

He smirked, despite his flushed expression. "On the contrary, Miss Swann. I fear that, should someone walk out into the garden and find me without a hat or wig, and you holding those garments, we would be whispered about amongst… people."

"Such as?"

He thought for a moment. "Lady Miller."

I shuddered. "For both our sakes, then-" I flung the hat back at him, "-have your hat back. And take the wig off already."

If anything, he reddened deeper as he pulled off the white wig. Without thinking he ran a hand through his hair, muttering something inaudible under his breath. He caught me staring and dropped his hand.

"Happy now, Miss Sw-"

"Elizabeth."

He bowed his head mockingly. "Allow me to rephrase that. Are you satisfied, Elizabeth?"

I tugged at a clump of his long brown hair, giggling when he bit his lip. "Yes. But really, you should be thanking me."

"Oh?" He quirked a brow. His lack of wig made his facial expressions look so much more genuine it was a wonder I recognised him – odd as that sounds.

"Mhm. The wig really is hideous. Pointless, at that."

The colour in his face lessened slightly, but he was still quite red.

"I agree."

* * *

Father shook James' hand vigorously. "Thankyou for taking care of her all day, sir, goodness knows what a handful she was."

I rolled my eyes. I'm standing right beside him. He could at least acknowledge me.

"Not at all, Governor. I believe you are hosting a garden party tomorrow evening?"

Father nodded, grinning, "You are attending, I hope?"

"Without doubt, sir." James smiled at me. He never smiled in Father's presence! Not genuinely, anyway. It was always a polite smile or laugh at a flat joke.

"Excellent! Now, I must see to a task in my office and I'm afraid I shan't have time tomorrow – no need to burden you with the tale of my work, so I must excuse myself. Elizabeth, kindly show Lieutenant Norrington to the door."

I bounced on my heels.

"Thankyou again, sir, I shall see you tomorrow."

"No, no, thankyou," Father insisted, shaking James' hand again and disappearing up the stairs.

I took James' hand, grinning impishly at him. "Thankyou for today, James."

"You're welcome, Elizabeth."

I pulled a look of feigned bewilderment. "You called me by my Christian name! How can I ever thank you?"

"There is no need… Miss Swann."

I pouted mockingly, pulling him toward the front door. He lifted my hand and kissed it, and I pretended to fan myself. I laughed, "Is that necessary?"

A raise of the brows. "I thoroughly enjoyed today. I shall see you tomorrow, Elizabeth."

His grin was contagious, and I didn't care if it was improper - I hugged him in reply.


	2. Farewell and Adieu

_Farewell and Adieu was a capstan shanty, which would have been sung on board ship as the capstan was turned to raise the anchor for its homeward journey. The earliest known reference to the tune is in the 1796 logbook of a naval ship called The Nellie, but it is certainly much older than that. Its words describe sailors returning to England from Spain._

_-0-_

**MAY, 1775**

I almost fell face-first onto the grass when James told me the news.

"Leaving!? When?"

"The fifth."

"But that's-"

"In two days."

"-the day before your birthday."

He looked genuinely apologetic, and I couldn't help but soften my outraged tone. It wasn't his fault that he was so good at his job. I just wished he'd told me earlier.

"How long have you known that you'd be out at sea?"

James squirmed slightly under my glare. Obviously he'd known for quite a while. And he hadn't told me – he usually told me if he was going out to sea for more than a few months.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"It... it wasn't definite. I wasn't – wasn't sure that I'd be..."

_Oh, that blush. _

I couldn't stay upset for very long; his sincere expression got the better of me. "I'm going to miss you, James."

His cheeks returned to their normal colour as his eyes smirked. I've always wondered how he did that – talking with his eyes. Must be a Royal Navy cult kind of thing. "It's a shame that feeling will not be mutual, Miss Swann."

I swatted him on the arm.

"I'll miss you too, Elizabeth."

"Good." I smiled as charmingly as a 15-year-old could. "And you promise to write?"

"But of course, madam," James bowed mockingly. He leaned too far forward and his hat fell off. I snatched it off the ground before he could and ran, giggling in a singsong voice,

"I've got the captain's ha-at, I've got the captain's ha-at!"

Even fifteen year old _young ladies_ can be eight years younger. I slowed down, James' heavy footsteps approaching me from behind. The uphill slope of the footpath must have been tiring him.

"Ja-eeemes. Do you want your hat back?" I turned around, waving the hat in the air and grinning as I watched him struggle up the hill.

"You... forget... Miss Swann..." he said, wiping an invisible bead of sweat off his brow, "...that I have run up much steeper and more obstructed paths in my lifetime."

I paused. And a second too long.

James was charging across the twenty or so yards that separated him and his hat, and before I knew it, he had stopped abruptly in front of me, not even breathing hard.

"I've run after much faster people." He secured the hat back on his wig. I pouted. "This chase was not difficult."

There it was again. The smirking with his eyes.

"And how long," I said challengingly, "would it take for me to catch you?" He sensed a double meaning in my words, and the smirk went away, leaving a pained crease in his brow.

"That is a matter for the wind to decide."

I pursed my lips and blew air into his face, startling him. The colour rose to his face once more. How I wished I was the wind all the time. James took my hand and squeezed it, quickly letting go in case anyone was watching.

I blinked, suddenly realising I was trying not to cry.

---

_Dear James,_

_I know I said this to you many times before you left on the _Dauntless_, and repeatedly as you left as well, but I must say it again. I am going to miss you. Dearly. I've sent you a small clump of dirt with this letter, because you won't see land again for a long time. Think of it as… a birthday present._

_I've no idea as to when this will reach you, because I'm unaware as to how merchants work when delivering letters._

_Father was reprimanding me for hugging you before you left. It was absurd. How else have I said goodbye these past two years? Propriety. I shake my head at it. Piffle propriety._

_I'm going to leave for the smithy soon, since William promised he'd show me what is meant by smelting. And maybe he'll teach me to sword fight – I'll say yes if he offers, James, unless you offer as well. _

_I'm going to miss you very much, James. Don't stay out at sea for too long. _

_Love, _

_Elizabeth__._

---

The reply came just under a week later. How the merchants moved so quickly, I'll never know.

---

_Dearest Elizabeth,_

_I must begin by warning you. Swordplay is no game. It is a difficult skill to master and even with Turner's help you will have trouble. I do suggest waiting for me to return. It would be of utter horror to your father should he receive a letter from me informing him of the lessons with William._

_In case my tone was too straight there, let it be noted I was being sarcastic. Enjoy the lessons, and for goodness' sake do not hurt yourself._

_I loved your present immensely, save for the fact that it ruined a small portion of your letter. Thankfully the saltwater and dirt did not destroy any text, only parchment. I have placed the dirt onto a china saucer and have it on my shelf. There are some questioning looks being thrown around the crew, but I ignore them. Your gift means very much. Thankyou. _

_Oh yes… my birthday… twenty four years of age, Elizabeth. How you managed to befriend someone so far from your age amazes me to this day. Though I must admit I am quite proud. _

_I too, shall miss you. I will write whenever possible, that is a promise. And so far there is no knowing how long this voyage will take – these criminals were last spotted in the southern Atlantic, and have since moved. _

_But I will return to Port Royal. You have my word as Captain and friend._

_Sincerely _

_Regards_

_Yours _

_From__ Oh. Sod it. As you say, piffle propriety. Only you will read this letter._

_Love,  
_

_James._

**

* * *

AUGUST, 1775**

We continued to write to one another for two or three months, exchanging stories of boredom, amusement or just everyday goings-on. His were mostly about someone almost falling overboard, becoming inebriated (which amused me very much), sightseeing descriptions, and – although there were none yet – raids and attacks on the ship.

---

_Elizadeth_

_I am writing this anb I think I have had too much to brink. Indeed, yes, I am ineba ini inebree drunk. I'm sorry if I misspell a word or not write a letter probab proppet the right way. I cannot think straight. The men fop fors forced me to drink with them. _

_And it is now the following morning. I am reading those words in shame, however I feel I shall send them on because, knowing you, you of all people would find it amusing. I do not condone drinking, however, so please Elizabeth, for the sake of everyone's sanity do not do it. The following headache is not worth it, not in the terribly repressed life you live. _

_There really is nothing to do on a ship, save for the obvious sailing, sleeping and eating. I told you a story in my last letter; perhaps it is time you returned the favour, yes? If it regards a blunder or the like by some of the upper class – perhaps old Mrs Harper has had another public scene with her worries of how young she looks? – I could tell it to the crew. They'd appreciate it very much, I'm sure._

_I must cut this letter short, now. Heavy rains are expected soon – nothing too fierce, just something that will keep me busy for a few hours – so I should send this letter off before the merchants flee. _

_Love, _

_James._

---

I visited Will in the smithy two or three times a week, in between home-schooling and tea parties and writing out long letters to James. In time, I learned basic swordplay, William being my only opponent so far. I so looked forward to when James would return, so that I could verse him in a mock duel. Even with sticks from trees would be alright. As long as it was with James.

Will was, as predicted, apprehensive about the lessons. He would always say something along the lines of, "Are you sure, Elizabeth? Your father will have a fit if he found out", or "You won't become too tired?"

My answer was always, "Captain Norrington says it's alright." Not that it made a difference to Will's opinion, but he taught me anyway. He was worried for the reputation of the smithy, since he was only two months older than myself, and so could be the topic of negative gossip. But whenever we had a mock duel, the apprehension seemed to disappear. And perhaps it was my imagination, but whenever I looked at him, his eyes flashed with an emotion I can't identify.

**---**

_Dear James,  
_

_When are you coming back home? I miss you terribly. _

_As you asked, I have a story to tell. It is quite amusing. I do not know what kind of humour your men have; I think since they are all over twenty they will enjoy the story very much.  
_

_I was walking back home from the swordplay lessons – through the small forest on the edge of town, you know the place – and it was a more secluded area of the park. I assumed I was by myself, so when I heard a giggle I got a bit of a shock. At first I was just startled, but then I turned and saw Leui Lieutenant Gillette and Lady Miller. I thought Lady Miller was married…? _

_They kept their clothes on, James, in case you're having a heart attack._

_Anyway, after about five or six minutes they became aware of my presence. Obviously, a 15-year-old is not meant to see such adulterous activity, because they both turned pinker than Father at a tea party. I was reprimanded for 'eavesdropping' and _politely _asked to be on my way. _

_I pointed out that Lady Miller was indeed married, to… I think it was Sir Roger or something of the like… and the Lieutenant turned even redder. Why, I'm surprised he did not explode. I also pointed out – as innocently as I could – that Gillette himself was courting some other woman, Miss Quast, and that what they were doing seemed suspicious._

_Gillette handed me three gold coins and said not to speak a word of it to anybody. And I've not told anybody. I'm telling you because you're not just anybody. You're James. And you asked for a story, so this is the most interesting one I have at the moment._

_That is the end of this letter, now, my hand is about ready to drop off. _

_I miss you! _

_Elizabeth__.  
_

**

* * *

DECEMBER, 1775**

_Dear James,_

_I was talking with the daughters of the upper class (including Lady Miller's daughter Ophelia), and they were all gushing on about being in love and gifts and walks on the beach. They all seemed to have someone to brag about, all of them talking about boys from the port who had thrown them occasional glances. There was only one person I'd ever received gifts and had walks on the beach with, so I talked about you, James. _

_Then they asked if I was in love with you. _

_It was an interesting question, now that I ponder it. I am still quite young after all, and those girls were no different. The question struck me and now I am stuck over it._

_Am I in love with you, James? What do you think? _

---

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_I am deeply flattered you chose to talk about me and not someone of your age – William Turner, for example – and regarding your question… (I suppose if you weren't in love you would not write so much, but we have been friends since before you knew what being in love meant.) I do not doubt we love each other very much, but not in the sense that those girls were chattering about. The walks on the beach were merely ways to spend time, and nothing more than a friendly walk, I am sure. Anyone who says otherwise is being too bold. (Tell them so on my behalf.)_

_Otherwise, happy Christmas to you. I am sorry I am not there to celebrate with you. You will not, unfortunately, be able to watch the late-night effects that brandy has on me, as you have done in other years. (There goes one less form of entertainment.)_

_Oh, what am I saying? This letter is so very inappropriate; it's a wonder I'm not even blushing whilst writing. _

_Love, _

_James._

_P.S. I must add that, should you feel the need to have someone you can say you are in love with (even if you are not), I am happy to be that person. Just do not expect that I say the same of you to my colleagues. You and I would be terribly shunned if I say anything as such._

---

_Dear James_

_I have done as you said. I am telling everyone that will listen that I am in love with Captain James Norrington. Will's eyes always flare with that emotion I cannot decipher, mixed with… well, some other unknown emotion. As if he is pained but longing…? I've told everyone in the household, even the servants. Father says I am being ridiculous, and that it is just the Christmas excitement. Perhaps he is right, but entertaining the notion that I have found love for a seemingly emotionless Navy officer and not just a merchant's son has thrown the snobby girls' egotistic views out the window. _

_I thank you greatly for allowing me to achieve such a feat._

_I have literally kissed this piece of parchment, and so if you feel the need, press your cheek to it. It is indirect, but still there. _

_Please return to Port Royal soon. Life is very tedious without someone to tell me sea stories in person. _

_With love,_

_Elizabeth__._


	3. Tom Bowling

_Tom Bowling was written by Charles Dibdin (1740-1814) on the death of his eldest brother, Thomas Dibdin, captain of a ship in the East India trade who died at sea. It first appeared in The Oddities which was performed at The Lyceum Theatre in 1789. The song is also known as the Sailor's Epitaph and describes the heroic adventures of its eponymous hero.  
_

_-0-_

**JANUARY, 1776  
**

_Dear James,_

_I miss you very much. You have been away for more than half a year now; you've never taken so long before. Please try to return before March? I hope you are not going out too far – the last reply you sent took three weeks to arrive, according to its date.  
_

_Oh. Will won't let me hug him. I asked him last time I saw him, just under a month ago. _You_ let me hug you. This confuses me. Also, perhaps you would know about it – Will's voice keeps changing pitch for a split second every so often. Has your voice always been that deep, or did yours go all crackly as well? Whenever Will's cracks he's always looking at me with that emotion I STILL cannot read._

_Whatever the case, I miss your hugs, James. Father's getting a little old for the endearments.  
_

_Actually… Will is being very peculiar now. At first I thought it was because he thought I really was in love with you, but now I don't know. He knows that I'm not really, not in that sense, but he's still acting strangely. And that unknown emotion! It irritates me no end. I've tried asking him but he doesn't seem to understand. I _know_ I'm not seeing things. Would you be able to help me? Whenever the emotion shows it looks like he is angry and pained, but also as if he is being told he is doing something wrong. Like a dog with a tail between its legs. Also, it is Will's birthday very soon – and judging how far you are from Port Royal it will have passed by the time you receive this – but I will ask anyway. What should I give him? Even if your reply is late it will not be moot. He won't mind if it is late. He never has.  
_

_Please return home soon? _

_Love,  
_

_ Elizabeth._

---

I visited Will just after New Year's Day. I hadn't seen him for nearly a month. Father had forbidden me to venture out into the part of town where the smithy resided; the "Christmas cheer" as he had called it would not be appropriate for a girl of my age. Of course I threw a fit and was banned from seeing William. I disregarded that ban, since it was made out of fatigue - Father had thrown one too many Christmas parties, I could tell.

I opened the wooden door to the smithy as quietly as I could, standing in the doorway. "Hello, Will."

Will was reading a book of some sort. He dropped his book at my call, startled. "E-Elizabeth. I didn't know you'd be-" his voice cracked, "-visiting."

I tilted my head. "Why does your voice do that now, Will?"

He shrugged. "I really can't say, I tried asking Mr Brown but he was too hung over as usual, and none of the customers really ever talk to me since I'm of low class."

Was it just me, or was that unreadable emotion making him talk twice as fast?

He went on, "I haven't been doing much these past few weeks other than my normal routine. I haven't been to any parties or such; all I did was go for a stroll in the park on Christmas day. And on New Year's I just listened to the people chattering away at the port."

He _was_ talking a lot more than usual.

"And I've had fewer deliveries since nobody seems to like swordplay during a festivity. Understandable, since nobody likes to work during a holiday. Did you do anything exciting-" his voice cracked again "-Elizabeth?"

"Are you alright, Will?"

"Yes. Fine. Absolutely. There's nothing wrong." He threw in a small laugh and averted his eyes from me, blushing.

"Really. You haven't been this nervous since Norrington was a Lieutenant."

He raised his head and looked me in the eye, unknown emotion very much present in his face. Perhaps that was the wrong time to mention James. "You're a bit young to be in love."

"Oh, is that all?" I brightened. "I'm not. It was just a ploy to annoy those snobby girls about their love affairs with sons of merchant sailors."

Something was nagging at me about my statement, but Will's voice pushed it away.

"Oh. Well that's alright, then." His eyes seemed to spark.

A moment's pause, "Would you like a swordplay lesson now, Elizabeth?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Being in love with Will would have made a lot more sense.****

* * *

MARCH, 1776_  
_

_Elizabeth  
_

_ He is in love with you. Give him what he wants._

_It is of great importance that you know, Elizabeth, that I truly did wish to return in time for your sixteenth, but it was impossible. I knew, the moment the New Year arrived that I would not make it. You have my wishes for your birthday, Elizabeth Swann, and I promise you, no matter what it takes, that I will do one thing for you when I return. One thing. Anything. Whatever you wish. That will be your birthday gift. If it is to never talk to you again, so be it._

_I am very far from home now, Elizabeth, and this will take a long time to arrive, so I am sending this in February. These letters are getting more and more difficult to send because of the distance, so you may not receive this reply for a month at least. _

_Happy sixteenth birthday, Elizabeth. _

_Love,_

_James._

---

_Give Will what he wants_. I could do that. But then again, I couldn't. Sixteen isn't too young to fall in love. I know it. Will was sixteen and he was in love. I was sixteen and I was in love. But not with Will. Surely there was something off about that? Surely, I was supposed to fall in love with someone my age, with long brown hair and a boyish grin and…

_And green eyes_…

"Oh, James," I whispered to the emptiness of my room, "I'm in love with you."

Was this a good thing or not? Nobody could answer that except James himself. I didn't know. I should be in love with Will! Will, who was already in love with me, who was one of my closest friends, who I… who I couldn't seem to love in that way. Why? Why couldn't I? It just would have been so much more – oh, I don't know the word – _appropriate_.

In the dim candlelight, I concentrated on the looping scrawl, tracing the words with my finger. I'd always envied his neat hand; I never got the hang of writing quickly and neatly as James so easily could. He'd helped me somewhat, but really all that came of it was how I wrote my A's – in one loop. I'd copied his way of writing it, and it had stuck ever since.

And the way he wrote my name looked like he wrote it carefully, all the letters perfectly written on an invisible line, the cross in the T precisely matching the tittle above the I… and the word "love"…

I clutched James' latest letter to myself before going to sleep.

---

_Dear James_

_Do you remember that time, just before Valentine's Day last year, when you assured me that I could tell you anything? _

_I take that into account now when I say this, James: I truly am in love with you. _

_It sounds childish, I know, but it is true and I am not retracting my word. I spent over an hour just reading your letter over and over again. I have not seen you in almost a year, but that means nothing. I look at William and think about what you wrote, but I cannot. The first time you laughed, when I made that remark about tarts, was when I knew we would be close. It was the innocent, childish way back then – you would be the one who would laugh at my youthful wisecracks about what is deemed proper, the one who would reprimand me but at the same time be laughing with me, everything. I've no idea when it escalated, but it did, and I could not stop it. _

_I am in love with you, James Norrington. _

---

I did not feel at all foolish as I wrote the letter. I did not know how long it would take to get to him, nor know how long it would take for the reply to arrive; _But all I want_, I thought as I slowly finished that last N, _is for James to know._ I had told all of Port Royal that I was in love with him, but if I were to carry on telling them, it would be crying wolf.

"Should I tell Will?" I asked aloud to nobody in particular.

"If you ask me, Miss-" Estrella began, and I let out a squeak of fright. "Sorry, Miss, I was just… it's a little obvious, and, I-"

"No, no, carry on."

"It'd be best not to tell the Turner lad. You did say he was in love with you; all this will do is hurt him. I know more about it than I should, Miss, and if it's not too bold to say, it would be better off for you if you kept mum about this to… well, everyone. Send that off to the Captain, but…" she hesitated.

"But what?"

"Don't be hurt if he doesn't feel the same way. I know that pain, miss, and I must say it's something I don't wish anyone else to endure."

I turned back to the table, folding the letter slowly into thirds.

"Thank you, Estrella."

**

* * *

AUGUST, 1776**

Six months and there was still no reply from James. To say that I began to worry was an understatement; I had started worrying about him to moment he left Port Royal. At least he was communicating, but now all forms of contact had ceased. Not one word from the _Dauntless_ came in, according to my father, and I feared the worst. A shipwreck, a lost battle, being stranded, sickness... anything could have happened.

The merchants that always seemed to be around also dispersed; apparently they all found station elsewhere. Some became privateers, and one of the crews were sent out to find the _Dauntless, _but so far, their reports have been unsettling. Apparently the waters they were in – waters that the _Dauntless _had previously passed through – were rough and prone to intermittent but dangerous storms.

Was James dead? No word had been received from the _Dauntless _for four months. For weeks on end, I blamed my letter for the downfall; James might have been disgusted at it, or something in that letter might have made him lose concentration. I approached my father about it, and he did chastise me for "wasting the captain's time by speaking of such ridicule" - but I did almost cry when he said it, and he took it back. Instead he said that I was over-reacting, and that I was just worried for James' sake. He was correct about that, at least.

"Is it my fault?" I asked Will.

He looked at me strangely. "Why would it be?"

I hadn't told anyone (except Father) about the contents of the letter. I didn't want to tell anyone, much less Will. He seemed upset enough as it was when I _pretended_ to be in love with James.

I hesitated.

"I don't know."

"Then it's not your fault," he said reassuringly.

I nodded mutely. I didn't really expect Will to understand; he hadn't been on a ship since the crossing from England. And even if he did, he couldn't do anything about this. I could try and stop, or at least steer my affections elsewhere – preferably to the boy presently standing in front of me, away from the man at sea. Will shifted from foot to foot, deterred by the unexpected silence.

"What's wrong, Elizabeth?"

I gave him a blank stare. "Nothing."

"You look distressed, to put it mildly." His forehead was creased with concern. Struggling to find his trepidation endearing, I twitched my face into a smile.

"I'm alright." I stood up and faced him, knowing that we were too close by propriety's standards. He was a bit taller than me, he always has been, and I'd only just noticed. His nose wasn't like James'; it was more… well, I didn't know. But he wasn't James.

Will stared at me. "We should… continue with the lessons," he stuttered, taking a step back and holding up a wooden sword, handle first.

"Yes."

**

* * *

DECEMBER, 1776**

Life didn't slake dreams. I kissed Will as Christmas arrived, and instead of falling into it as I'd dreamt, he jumped away like a wounded dog and ran off, stammering apologies and blushing. Apparently kissing him was a mistake; I should have waited for the real dream to arrive.

_James, will you ever return?_

I was almost sure he was dead. On the first day of November, I spent all day thinking about him, walking along the docks, looking at the ships, at the soldiers at the Fort. I forgot to visit Will; instead I sat on the bench in the courtyard, remembering and wishing James was with me. I ate dinner in silence, pretending he was sitting at the other end of the table. I went to bed, thinking of him. Imagining that he was reading me to sleep.

I had a dream that night – he was there, standing on the quarterdeck of his beloved _Dauntless_. Instead of posing ramrod-straight, he was leaning carelessly on the railing, paper and charcoal in hand. He was sketching me, his green eyes glimmering in concentration. I was just standing there, watching him watch me, until finally he pocketed the nub of charcoal.

"Can I see it?"

He looked up at me and grinned. Nodded. Walked towards me. Gave me the piece of paper. And when my eyes casted downwards, I woke up.

For a week, I had the same dream. He would sketch me, and every time he finished, I would wake up. It infuriated me, for when I awakened, it was never morning – it was only dawn, or earlier, never morning, and when I fell asleep again, he was gone. I didn't dream. Instead I sat on the railing of the _Dauntless_, by myself, wondering where he'd gone.

People wished me a Merry Christmas, but I didn't have it.

**

* * *

APRIL, 1777**

_James, where are you? _

_Please don't be dead._


	4. The Sailor's Hornpipe

_Such is the widespread popularity of Jack's the Lad (also known as The Sailor's Hornpipe) that it is claimed as a national tune by Ireland and Scotland as well as England. The dance gets its name because it was accompanied by a hornpipe, a wooden pipe with spaced holes and a mouthpiece made of horn. As a dance, the hornpipe dates back to the 15th century and was soon associated with sailors and the sea, with steps that relate to naval activities. _

**FEBRUARY, 1778**

"Miss Elizabeth? You have a visitor." Estrella stood in the doorway, looking slightly anxious.

"Thankyou. I'll be down in a moment," I said, nodding. It couldn't be Will, he never came unannounced – not by the front door, anyway, usually through my window. And I didn't really have any female friends to visit me. "Who is it?"

"It's... it's the captain, Miss."

I dropped my hairbrush, gaping at the maid in disbelief. "James?"

It took me about five seconds to register the news, and I snapped back to life. _To hell with my hair!_ I flung my ribbon onto the bed and raced down the stairs, eyes fixed on the man standing in the doorway. He gazed at me from where he stood, looking tired but relieved.

_Why are there so many stairs on this thing?_ I practically fell down half the way.

A hesitant smile spread across his face as I descended the last few stairs. I halted in front of him, taking in his image. He was a little taller, his skin was darker, and he looked like he'd lost many months of sleep.

"Elizabeth."

I didn't know what to say, what to think. Should I be angry that he never replied, should I be relieved that he was safe and back home, should I hit him or hug him or...? "Did you catch them?" I went for an off-topic, neutral question, my voice sounding almost cold.

"We… No. No, we did not."

"Did you give up, then?" My voice rose slightly.

James shook his head, expression soft.

I poked him in the chest. "Then why are you back?"

He looked surprised, almost hurt. "You wanted me to come back."

"And why now, of all the times you could have returned?" I was almost angry.

"I... I didn't want to miss your debut," James confessed, blushing.

Somewhere in my mind, a twig snapped.

He let out a squeak as I threw my arms around his neck, the tears already falling. I cried into his shoulder, guilt and relief and confusion letting themselves out. He put a hesitant arm around me, returning the embrace when he realised I was crying. "After you went silent, I thought… I thought you…" _His cravat is warm_, I observed, pressing my cheek to it. "You were…"

"But I'm not."

We stood there for a few blessed moments; me still sobbing into his neck and him just holding me – albeit a little awkwardly – and all the while, a question prodded the back of my mind. I ignored it, for now; all I wanted was to feel the warmth of him. James was back - back from the dead, in my eyes, and I was just as relieved. Estrella and the other servants were probably watching, but I didn't care.

But if only… If only this had happened a year ago; if it had, I wouldn't have been thinking of Will.

"We arrived in port a week ago, and I had to write a report for lost sailors, up at the Fort. I would have sent for you, but I..."

He stopped and motioned for me to sit down. As I did, I marvelled at the scene – it was like the time, all those years ago, that I had sat myself down in the exact spot, ages younger and heaven forbid simple-minded. The sun was in the exact same place in the sky, the bench having never moved; the only difference was that the paint was peeling.

James looked forlorn. Had I been as young as last time I would have clasped his hand in mine, to reassure him, but for certain I wouldn't dare do such a thing given the circumstances.

"Go on," I said instead, like a coward.

"I would have sent for you, but I'm afraid I was just... too... too busy."

He never was a good liar, not to me.

_"Elizabeth?" _

_"Hello, Will," I approach him and he puts down his hammer. Wiping his hands on his shirt, he turns toward me. "What are you up to today?"_

_"Smelting, as usual," he answers absent-mindedly, putting away the hammer, and turning to face me. "Same old. Nothing new. Has anything happened with you? Has Norrington arrived back?" _

_I wince, then shake my head. I don't want to think about James right now. I don't think I ever do._

_"I'm just visiting. I find myself lacking activities to keep me occupied."_

_"I see," he answers, not really paying attention. He motions for me to follow him into the back room, where there is a table and three chairs, and an empty cupboard. _

_We sit down, across from each other, and he leans back in his chair._

_"Here for company, then?" He smiles across the table. "You miss him, don't you?" _

_I remain quiet and Will catches on, smiling apologetically. _

_"Sorry."_

_"None of that," I imitate James slightly, in a failing attempt to lighten my wounded voice. _

_He grins and leans on his elbows on the table. I copy him and he chuckles. _

_"I apologise for creating your discomfort, Miss Swann." _

_I raise a mocking brow at him, "Since when am I 'Miss Swann'?"_

_He laughs again, and to resist the urge to kiss him is futile. _

"...I trust you have outgrown the tales of life on a ship, then, Elizabeth?" James' voice breaks into my thoughts. I look at him, then lower my face in shame; I hadn't been listening. What was James thinking? Of all the times I remembered my first real moment with Will, right then was not a good time. Not in the slightest.

"No, I mean, yes, I mean... I'm sorry, Captain." I can see hurt fill his eyes, and shock goes through me like fire. Since when do I address him by his title? "I, I'm sorry, I was just... momentarily distracted."

_By what? _His eyes asked, but I pretended not to notice. He nodded, his expression stony, but I could tell he was crestfallen. "I must be boring you terribly, then, Elizabeth. I apologise." He stood up, straightening his hat. "I think it would be best if I... took my leave. Lots of work to do. I shall see you tomorrow."

I stared at his retreating back, and just as he reached the back door, I called out, "I missed you, James."

He paused, but only momentarily; instead of turning to face me, he left hurriedly, leaving a tense air between us.

**MARCH, 1778**

The following night had forever been the subject of my nightmares. A debut ball, full of chattering overdressed women and men laughing over matters that nobody gave a rat's arse about. When we first moved to Jamaica, I had envisioned my eighteenth to be a small dinner party, with Will and James and Father, nobody else. But none of my birthdays had been like that; they had all been huge social events, with at least thirty people in attendance, half of whom I had never even met.

This time, there were definitely more than thirty. Heaven forbid, it was almost as if all the upper-class prats of Port Royal had turned up. For all I knew, they may have. I lost Father amongst the crowd over an hour ago, and have since been thrown into dance after dance with men I've only ever seen at the dock or in the street. And to my dismay, none of them were _him_.

I could not even tell if he was here, although I knew he would be, somewhere. James always kept his promises to me – no, that wasn't true. He only returned a week ago. He said he would never take more than a year. Now I was in doubt, and it was so unfair on him that I nearly stormed out of the ballroom in disgust with myself. It was all so unfair, really, how I was stubborn enough to think that I could just turn back to him the moment he returned. Now that he was back, though, I just couldn't. I was stuck on Will, and I wasn't sure I wanted to let go.

And that was another reason why I was so annoyed. Father outright refused to allow Will to attend, since he was 'just a blacksmith'.

I manoeuvred my way through the sea of dresses, struggling to find a dark, empty corner for me to disappear into. Instead I found myself at the ballroom doorway; the crowd thinned out in this part of the room. I slipped out into the hallway, where only few candles lit the way. The further down I travelled, the quieter it became, and soon I was almost fifty feet away from the bustling party, where hundreds had come for the celebration of my existence, and yet didn't seem to notice its absence.

I laughed out loud at the irony.

"That's the reaction I was hoping for yesterday, you know," James said softly, stepping toward me.

I jumped, but not visibly, and turned around to face him. He was in his dress uniform – not surprisingly – and looked distant, tired, as if he had not slept.

The pang of guilt hit me again, and I was at a loss for words.

"I arrived a quarter hour ago. I found you, and I was going to apologise, but you were swept away in the crowd. Then I saw you leave the room, and so I..." the hallway was dim, but I still saw him look down at his shoes, abashed.

"At least you were able to attend. That's all that matters," I said reassuringly, and he smiles, though painfully.

Applause echoed through the hallway, and the musicians started up another piece. James took my arm gently, and I followed him back into the ballroom.

We remained within the crowd, hoping to look inconspicuous, with an easy success. I tried to ignore the fact that his hand was on my waist, and that my hand was resting on his shoulder. I also tried to ignore the way his eyes bored into mine, almost daring me to speak, but I did not.

"How have you been?"

His simple question threw me, and had his hand not been there holding me up, I would have fallen over. I go for the collected response, "Bored, mostly."

Or perhaps not so collected. Silence fell between us again.

My voice caught in my throat, but the question I had been wanting to ask just escaped my lips.

"Did you receive my letter?"

To my surprise, he laughed. _Oh, no. _Was this the reason he stopped replying?

"Which one?" He joked, and I let out a sigh of relief, soon replaced by another squeaky outburst.

"The last one I sent, before you..." 'Stopped replying' was not the best way to end the sentence. I let it hang in midair.

"January the seventh, year of our Lord seventeen-seventy-six, where you asked me why William's voice was breaking and asked my opinion on what you should give him as a birthday present," he answered, his voice almost careless, but his eyes conveying sadness. It hit me like a blow as I realised how much I talked about Will in that letter – what must that have looked like to him? Worse, what did it look like to him now?

And that last letter... the one where I... he had not received it. It had probably been lost to the waves, the only true bit of evidence that I had really harboured feelings for James Norrington. It was almost cruel, and my fault in every way.

"I did miss you, you know," I said, almost silent against the noise of the party, sounding pathetically on the verge of tears. And I was.

_I know, _he smiles at me.

"I dreamt about you," I blurted, in an attempt to hide my grief, "you would sketch me and show me but I never got to see what you had drawn. I would always wake up."

James looked at me, almost blankly. Then, still mute, he led me off the dance floor, almost tugging at my arm, escaping the crowd. I followed him, my face twisted in confusion, half of me almost dreading whatever was going to happen. Soon, we were back in the hallway, underneath one of the few candles mounted on the walls. I opened my mouth to speak, but he pressed a finger against my lips and I nearly choked. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he reached into his coat.

He pressed a folded bit of paper into my palm and stepped away. I thought would have been disappointed at the loss of contact, but I was relieved. James looked at me with hard eyes, and I unfolded the paper, hands shaking. It was the same size as the drawing in my dream.

He had drawn me, standing at the rail of a ship – the _Dauntless, _obviously – my arms by my side, dress flapping, a curious look about my face. The exact surroundings of my dreams. It looked so realistic I almost thought I was in the dream again. I raised my eyes to his, and with another pang of guilt realised that this was a drawing of me, by him, from memory, from far out in the ocean. And I had dreamt of him drawing this very image.

"I was going to give it to you yesterday..." his voice trailed off.

I folded the paper, very carefully, and grasped his hand. I made to give it back, but my arm did not move. I held his hand tightly, looking at him, suppressing tears.

I had been so cruel, but I couldn't help it. I cannot help it.

I had been unfair to James, to myself, to Will. I had given up hope, and stupidly – blindly – turned to another, thinking I could change back in an instant. But I could not. Not only because it would break Will's heart, but because I had not seen James in years. He barely knew me now, which shouldn't be, but it is.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him, and ran off down the hallway.

"Elizabeth!" he called after me, his voice desperate, but I did not hear him.

I had been so, so stupid. But what was done was done, and nothing would ever change it.


	5. Epilogue

_A/N: Last chapter. Thanks everyone for reading/reviewing etc. I think this is one of my better stories, so I'm happy with it. And I know there are a few historical inaccuracies, Navy-wise and time-frame-wise, but meh. Mistakes happen :P So, onward with the epilogue!_

_-O-_

It is her words that haunt me, urge me on today. It is saddening, and sickening, and in some ways the most scandalous thing one could do in these times.

Love.

It was four years ago she proclaimed it, back when I was too cowardly to say anything about it. It was… endearing, to put it mildly, because three years ago, I did not know how I felt. The letters she sent left me pondering throughout the entire voyage – was it love or friendship? On her part, it seemed, it was the former. And now it is barely the latter. Ever since her debut, light conversation has been few and far between; never any more than just a comment on the weather, or the colonies, or how the blacksmith's business is handling.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't pulled him out of the water.

* * *

I am a fool. I should never have accepted the Governor's invitation; I only set my work aside in the hopes I would see Elizabeth too. Since her eighteenth, I have squandered time in finding ways to cross paths with her, and every single time, I have been foiled. True enough, the plans were weak, and relied more on the weather or my men – both more unreliable than the other, in such a situation.

But it is by my foolish ways I find myself dragging my boots up the drive of the Swann household. Why, why, _why _am I here, when I could be deciphering Andrew's illegible writing and finish those damned papers?

Love.

I curse and adjust my cuffs, which I had carelessly folded up my arms. God forbid, I probably wasn't decent enough to be a merchant. And in the early afternoon, as well. What was it with British citizens and tea? Could they not drink it alone? Cursing again, I tug off my hat and stomp the rest of the way. Damned if anyone sees me. What does it matter? A captain stamping around like a mad bull isn't that unusual a sight. Even if it was the _Scourge of Piracy. _The title of mine was a mere distraction, of course. Yet here I was, drawn to what I was avoiding, when I should have been at work.

Swann. Too jolly sometimes, I thought irritably, And his daughter just had to be-

Right in front of me.

"I, er, saw you through the window." She says lamely, and gestures at the open door behind her.

"Thank you, Miss Swann," I answer stonily, fighting the urge to blush. Amorous words no longer exist between us. If they ever did.

"Shall I fetch my father?" She asks, uncertain, as I place my hat back on and stand even taller. I try to look intimidating, but with Elizabeth, it's nigh impossible.

"Yes, thank you."

She nods, turns, and ascends the stairs. I manage not to gape at her and keep my expression blank.

"Af'ernoon, Cap'n Norrington sir," a portly maid rushes by. I nod at her, but she is already gone.

Metaphorically, the small scene depresses me.

"Ah, Captain Norrington. Please, do follow me, we must sit down. Surely you are tired from your walk from the Fort, ah, no, of course, but you are a gentleman! Yes, yes, do follow-" Governor Swann came flying down the stairs and shook my hand roughly, looking more flustered than usual. "Follow me, yes, thank you, no, no, do please sit down."

I follow him into the next room, where a round table and four seats are placed. I taught Elizabeth about Shakespeare many a time in this room. I am momentarily distracted until Swann claps his hands and gestures for me to sit.

I sit.

"Elizabeth was rather fond of you, was she not?"

---

_Dear James_

_Do you remember that time, just before Valentine's Day last year, when you assured me that I could tell you anything? _

_I take that into account now when I say this, James: _

_I truly am in love with you. _

---

I nod imperceptibly, still slightly startled at the way he greeted me. He seemed very jumpy today; almost nervous about something, as if he held a secret and was to be killed if he did not tell.

"And you are, ah, mutual in that respect?"

I blanched. "One could look at it that way, yes," I answer carefully, making sure I am sitting up straight. "Is there a problem?"

"A problem!" Swann exclaims, putting a hand on his heart, "Of course not, sir, nay, there is nothing wrong with you befriending my daughter! Of course the same cannot be said for some…"

---

_It sounds childish, I know, but it is true and I am not retracting my word. I spent over an hour just reading your letter over and over again. I have not seen you in almost a year, but that means nothing. I look at William and think about what you wrote, but I cannot. The first time you laughed, when I made that remark about tarts, was when I knew we would be close. _

---

I feel the heat reach my face, not from embarrassment, but anger.

_Turner. _

"…I must be direct, Captain. You are to be promoted to Commodore in two weeks' time, is this correct?"

"Yes, sir." Oh, God, I hope he isn't asking…

"And the post requires you to bear a wife?" Christ. He is.

"That it does, sir."

Swann wipes his brow. "Have you… made plans… on who you are to court?"

This is an invitation. To Hell.

"No, sir. I have not." I do not enjoy this game. I wish subtlety was deemed improper, and not the other way around.

"May I… make a bold suggestion?"

"Elizabeth?" I attempt to sound offhand, with no luck whatsoever. Her name is her identity. I never want to taint it.

"Indeed. My daughter and yourself, if I may say, would make a fine couple. And I certainly do not solely mean your status."

I briefly wonder if the Governor's head is a brick. I have not conversed decently with Elizabeth Swann for more than three years.

---

_It was the innocent, childish way back then – you would be the one who would laugh at my youthful wisecracks about what is deemed proper, the one who would reprimand me but at the same time be laughing with me, everything. I've no idea when it escalated, but it did, and I could not stop it. _

---

I leave the Swann household a quarter hour later, emerging as Elizabeth Swann's choice suitor. Damned if she said yes. There was barely any time left for me to practice any form of approach; the promotion ceremony was within a fortnight, and in that time there were hundreds of things to sign, to read, and write. And now I had a gaping problem. More gaping than anything I had ever felt.

I was to court the Governor's daughter, armed with naught but my love against her extinguished feelings.

---

_I am in love with you, James Norrington. _

---

And I you, Elizabeth. But I am three years too late, and a fortnight too early.


End file.
